


Righteous

by FrostedHolly



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Baggage, Good Uchiha Obito, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Kakashi is a good friend, Loneliness, M/M, One Shot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slice of Life, Somewhat, Uchiha Obito-centric, a lot of self-loathing, but with a twist, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26014936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedHolly/pseuds/FrostedHolly
Summary: In which Obito is an emotional wreck as he goes about his repetitive daily routine.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito
Comments: 25
Kudos: 90





	Righteous

**Author's Note:**

> uh, hi?
> 
> im so nervous! this is the first work ive ever published online. im usually not like this, i swear. the real me will (hopefully) start to show as i get used to this site. 
> 
> i've decided to post this today because ive been sitting on this story for a while, and certain events that occurred today inspired me to share it, even if only five people read it. that would be more than enough to me!
> 
> also, please point out any typos or inconsistencies in my writing. i'd love to fix them and get better as a writer. thank you in advance <3

Purple is a gorgeous color. 

It's the color of bruises and witches' potions. The color of Ursula's skin. The color of a frosted love spell. The color of his bedsheets.

Obito adores purple. Impending doom, trembling, racing thoughts— all symptoms of anxiety. They rest with him in purple sheets.

Speaking of isolation; it's something Obito has associated himself with for as long as he can remember. Once, he had not liked feeling lonely. He had craved attention so vehemently that, at one point, he'd considered seriously hurting a teammate to meet the blue eyes of his Sensei in recognition. As equals. 

The cost of such an idea was having small hands soaked in blood that could never wash off, and that wasn’t a price he’d ever been willing to pay. It still doesn't sit right with him. 

At the time, he hadn't been very skilled. He was the type to trip over his own feet and cry in the face of danger. He had avoided pain at all costs. How childish he'd been, thinking spring would last an eternity and death was a distant demon. The village didn't want a thing to do with his Uchiha blood and idealistic views. 

Nor did the Uchiha clan themselves— he wasn't good enough.

Obito sucks in a breath at the thought. He awaits the exhale.

He looks down at the purple sheets he's sitting on top of. Sheets that smell of violent tendencies and cherry cheer. He grasps the dull color, watches as the purple bends to his will inside his clenched fist. 

He's never been strong enough. His hand loosens and the color falls away with his faith, wrinkled and disturbed from his ministrations. It bothers him greatly. 

He likes to believe that he’s grown to deny the need of being accepted or appreciated. His ideas, his limited feelings, are his alone. He doesn't need anyone else to acknowledge them.

The feeling for caring about others, however, is a recurring problem, and its the one thing from Obito's past that has sticked with him indefinitely. Everything else has escaped him— never-ending spring and a mockery of death has become freezing winter weather that makes pale skin turn red and numb and an inability to meet death, no matter how far or wide he searches.

He still has things to do, he supposes. People to care for, albeit from afar.

He will never admit to that in front of anyone. Not the trees, not the rivers, not even the rabbits he hunts while out on ANBU missions. To do so would be an admittance of defeat, a moment of vulnerability. He's not scared of many things, but vulnerability stops him in his tracks each time he thinks about it.

As a child, he was scared of many things, though. Even if he would never say it, it showed in his behavior. He supposes that's another thing he retained from his younger counterpart. Pride. Stubbornness. 

He'd always kept his hands and feet in the bed, wary not to let them hang over the edge, lest the demons of the night reach at him and yank at his limbs to force him to do their bidding. It's the peak of human evolution— never being taught to be afraid of such monsters, but knowing anyways. Having the _instinctual_ fear to avoid them. 

Normal Uchiha children aren't typically susceptible to this childish fear, though. They're taught to never be afraid of anything but love. But Obito’s never been normal, as he had grown up sleeping alone, curled in on himself in an empty apartment at the far end of the Uchiha compound, fearful that purple-colored monsters would slither in and damage his mind and body with demented senses of humor. 

He grew up dreaming bad dreams of those monsters. They would attack the people he loved, take them away from him one by bloody one, until he woke up in a cold sweat and tears running down his cheeks in hot trails. 

Obito hadn't been taught to fear nothing else but love. He'd lived alone, and never had a guiding hand to teach him the clan rules and traditions. The only thing he knew was that, after each night spent in fear, he would get to see a pretty girl when the sun arose the following morning. That had been all he needed.

When he looks back on it now, he wishes he _had_ been taught that lesson. He had to learn it the hard way in a wake of tears and a fire-hot burn searing behind his retinas. He lost the girl he dreamed about, who was with him, always watching him, all that time ago. 

Perhaps it wasn't the sole fact that he loved her that caused him to be this way. Which he still did love her— he's never quite stopped, even a handful of years later— but perhaps the gaping hole that emerged to replace his heart came to be because of other factors as well. 

That girl, the one whom he loved, was the symbol of a happy time in his life. She'd represented all the good things to live for as each day came and went. In that time of his life, he hated winter with all his heart and never spared the Grim Reaper a second thought. Perhaps he's far more cynical, far more jaded than he's currently aware of. Growing up as an orphan on a blood-soaked battlefield during the Third Great Shinobi War had taught him a new sense of right and wrong that, in hindsight, might not have been entirely correct. 

He can't blame himself for Konoha's mistakes though. Manpower had been low, but to drag impressionable children into _their_ generation's war? It's what got Rin killed. It's what made Kakashi and Obito cold-blooded killers and dyed their hands in blood that they could never quite rinse off. 

Violet. _Murasaki_. Lila. Púrpura. _Zi Sè_. Purple.

Obito pushes himself up from the purple bedsheets and plants his bare feet on the cold floor. He doesn't allow the linoleum time to absorb his body heat as he quickly steadies his legs and pads out of the bedroom to the next room over in sluggish movements. He wants a shower. 

He turns in to the bathroom and shuts the already opened door behind him, twisting the lock. He flicks on the lights with a single finger before passing a grand mirror that he pointedly looks away from. His reflection is something he doesn't look at often, and avoiding mirrors is something he's done since the incident during the war that left half his body scarred and rigid in texture. That was the day he'd planned to die, and when he woke up, he'd never been more grateful to be alive. A few weeks later on a certain fateful day, however, had made him wish he'd died and saved himself the pain. 

He bends down a slight bit to reach the shower handle and twists the knob as far to the left as it can go, and water streams out of the shower head above in a continuous hissing spray. He pulls away and closes purple curtains to reduce the mess of water getting everywhere. He turns around and averts his eyes to the floor as he opens a cabinet and grabs a towel from inside, unfolding it and laying it out on the ground for when he's finished showering. 

Obito doesn't like to make messes. He'll never clean them if he does. 

He steps back to the shower stall and pushes his hand past the curtain, stretching his arm out to hold under the spray of water. It's warm. He wants it scalding. 

He takes the time to undress— grabbing opposite ends of his shirt with both hands and lifting it over his head and down off his arms, and pushing down sweatpants and boxers with one motion and then throwing everything into the hamper by his feet. 

It's then that he notices the hamper is overflowing. He pauses for one moment to acknowledge it and turns away in the next to pull back the shower curtain and step inside, tugging the material back in place. 

The water isn't quite as hot as he'd like it to be yet, but it's hotter than when he tested it before undressing, and he's fine with it. It doesn't bother him too much.

Showers are therapeutic, even for him— they don't make him _feel_ any more clean, but they ease muscles that he's never known were tense before. That's the reason why he relaxes under the hot spray for a moment, tilting his head back as it wets his hair. 

Obito exhales.

It’s a few moments later when he breaks out of his trance, and when he does, he's pleased to realize the water is as hot as he prefers it to be. He grabs a bottle of shampoo from the small counter and flips it upside down in his hand. He raises his empty hand as he flicks the bottle cap open to squeeze the smooth contents into his palm. The scent of citrus fills his lungs as they expand, and he relishes in the nice scent. He presses the cap against the counter to snap it closed and sets the bottle down. He rubs his hands together gently and leans his head away from the water, lathering the shampoo into his short hair.

For the moment, Obito allows himself to wonder why rubbing his fingertips into his scalp feels so good.

Physical sensations, in his limited knowledge on the subject, feel better with other people. Feeling Rin's arms brush against his had felt lovely. When she bandaged his wounds and her fingertips trailed along his skin... it was heavenly. 

Obito wonders what it must be like to shower with another person. 

The size of his shower stall would certainly accommodate another body, even with him inside at the same time.

He stops that thought as soon as it plants itself in his head. Feelings hurt. If any of the things that have transpired in past years have taught him anything, it's that fact alone. 

He arches his neck back to move under the water and closes his eyes as he starts to rinse out the shampoo. His brow furrows the slightest bit as he concentrates on getting all of the citrus scented product out. Once he's finished, he grabs a bottle of conditioner to repeat the process and waits for it to set.

While he waits, he uses the time to clean himself off with a bar of soap. He'd come back from a mission the night before, and after not seeing a proper bed in the better part of two weeks, he couldn't resist it. He'd been too tired to shower, and fell asleep just moments after climbing up the stairs.

He washes off all of the blood and dirt that he missed during the brief wash he had in a river during the mission. The blood that never washes off his hands smudges on his collarbones and his abs and his thighs. He doesn't bother attempting to scrub it off.

He estimates that enough time has passed for the conditioner to set and begins to wash it out as thoroughly as he can. 

After a few quick moments, he reaches behind him to twist the knob to the off position, halting the water flow from the shower head. He pushes the curtain away to step out of the shower and onto the towel he'd laid out, a hand gliding through his hair to get it out of his face.

He inhales steam into his chest that makes him lightheaded. 

Obito stops in front of the mirror and grabs another towel from inside the cabinet. He tilts his head off to the side as he ruffles his hair with the cloth dry it off, and once he's finished with that, he uses another towel to wrap securely around his waist.

Yes, he uses a towel to cover himself when he's home alone, and no, he does not dry his body himself. He prefers to airdry.

He reaches the door handle and twists the knob, the lock automatically clicking out of place, but before he pulls the door open, he catches his reflection in the mirror. His view is obstructed by the cloudiness of the steam that's attached itself to the glass, but it's still enough for him to look away, even if all he can see is a mix of colors and blurry shapes. He pulls the door back and walks into the hallway, goosebumps raking his skin at the drop in temperature. He takes a while to adjust as he walks through his room and into his closet. 

Violet. _Murasaki_. Lila. Púrpura. _Zi Sè_. Purple. 

He ponders for a moment once he walks in the closet. Nothing quite stands out to him.

His eyes wander over the long rack of clothes until they catch on something he almost forgot he owned. They were used for an infiltration mission a few months back, and he'd never donned the outfit ever since. 

It's a long angel-sleeved purple robe and loose fitting black pants. He pulls both of them off the rack to examine them. 

The mission had been quite long and boring for the first few days. It had only lasted a week, but if his memory serves correctly, the mission was successful.

Perhaps he needs a change of pace from the typical Konohagakure Jônin attire. He tugs the towel off from his waist and gets dressed for the day. Once he's accomplished that, he decides the outfit is missing something and clips an off-white belt around his waist.

Because, of course, he has fashion sense. He's feeling righteous.

Before he leaves the room, Obito considers picking up the towel he had carelessly dropped to the floor a minute or two ago. He hesitates for a quick moment before shrugging it off as he always does and walks out of the room. He'll pick it up sometime later when he's bothered about it enough.

He steps down the stairway and into the kitchen. The room is small, with only three cupboards, a table in the corner, the kitchenwares on one side of the room under a small window and a fridge on the opposite side. Through the windowpanes, light shines in beautifully. An ethereal glow is cast on the kitchen. The sunlight is bright enough that he doesn't need to turn on the light to see. 

He pads over to the cupboards and opens one before deciding he's not hungry. There's nothing much to eat, since it's been weeks since he last went grocery shopping. He doesn't seem to have much time anyways, if the position of the sun in the sky through the window is anything to go by. Today might be his day off, but he still has responsibilities and only less than twenty-four hours to tend to them. 

He's going to regret that conclusion later, he's sure.

Obito hums a sound short and sweet and goes to the bathroom attached to the kitchen to brush his hair and teeth and take a leak. It's a daily routine he makes quick work of and before he knows it, he's already out the front door and walking down the short steps of the porch to the path ahead. 

Today is another day.

It's when his feet land on the pathway of the neighborhood that the true weight of things settle on his shoulders again like an anvil, to remind him that he can never forget what this village has truly done to his sense of self. 

He does have that hole in his chest, after all. 

He walks down the repetitive path of the Uchiha compound and makes his way toward the entrance gates. On his way there, he passes through the Uchiha's shopping center, the numerous small stands busy with waiting patrons. He observes as he walks by until he hears a small voice yell his name from behind. He turns, because he recognizes the voice. He could name it anywhere.

It's Shisui, one of his younger cousins. Obito puts on a mask and smiles as Shisui sprints towards him.

"Shisui!" Obito _pretends_ , and kneels down to capture the tall young boy in his arms. "What's up?"

It's then, when Shisui hugs him back tightly, that Itachi walks up to them at his own pace. Itachi's face is one Obito doesn't get to see very often, despite being best friends with the child's ANBU team leader. 

Speaking of that man, Itachi reminds him a lot of Kakashi. So young, but so skilled that the village wants to take advantage of it. 

Obito has always felt bad for Itachi, in that regard.

"A little stressed. A lot's going on, but I'm okay." Shisui pulls away and gives him a bright smile that he mirrors, "It's been forever, cousin Obito. Where've you been?"

Obito tries not to linger too much on his younger cousin's response, and decides to tease him, reminding himself of the mask he must maintain. "Been on a mission. It was only two weeks— you've went without seeing me for months before."

Shisui huffs in response. "Doesn't mean I missed you any less!"

This admission sends a warm feeling through Obito's stomach.

"I missed you too, cous'." Obito claps the young boy's shoulder, hyperaware of Itachi watching closely, "but I'll catch up with you later. I've got stuff to do for now." 

Shisui doesn't seem to pick up on his half truth, because he just nods and enthusiastically waves his farewell before turning to walk away. Obito waits for Itachi to follow suit, but the boy stays and looks straight at Obito.

Obito doesn't know how to react. He never gets to interact with Itachi due to the boy being both busy and the clan head's— Fugaku Uchiha's— eldest son. It doesn't look like Itachi has the same problem as Obito does, however, because he speaks simply with not even a quiver of awkwardness or embarrassment in his voice.

"I like your robe, Obito-kun."

Oh.

"Ah... thank you..?"

He really didn't mean for his response to sound so unsure. He just wasn't expecting a compliment from the kid. 

He looks down from Itachi's eyes, and internally beats himself up over it. He's shying away from a child, someone barely half his age. Then, when he attempts to lift his eyes, he spots a wristband on Itachi's left arm. 

It's _purple._

"I like your wristband." 

The words come out of his mouth before he realizes it, and before he can stammer or take it back, Itachi replies. 

"Thank you, Obito-kun."

Obito thought it would be enough, but Itachi doesn't turn to leave. He wonders what kind of problem this kid has to where he needs to speak to _him,_ of all people.

"How's Sasuke?" 

This seems to be the thing he's been looking for, as Itachi's eyes light up at the mention of his little brother. Strangely, Obito notices a small twinge of sadness tugs at his features. "He's great," Itachi starts, a strange smile coming over his features that looks almost like a grimace, "I love him a lot, Obito-kun. I want nothing more than to protect him until the day I die."

Obito feels a genuine smile burn through the mask he previously donned. 

"Then, what's wrong?"

Itachi averts his eyes. "It's our father. He tells Sasuke to become as strong as me. It upsets him. I can tell."

Obito can confidently say he _kind_ of gets the problem now. "Because Sasuke wants to be acknowledged by your father as Sasuke, not as your younger brother."

Itachi nods, hands clenching at his sides. 

"It hurts me, but father never listens when I bring it up with him..."

Obito looks deeply at the poster child for what an Uchiha is supposed to be— this skilled, dignified and respectful young boy— and grabs the younger's small calloused hands in his own mismatched ones, "then make sure he knows you acknowledge him for _him._ He loves you just as much as you love him. Don't let that be lost on him."

Itachi's gaze meets his, and his clenched hands loosen in Obito's grasp. Obito sees that as his cue to continue, and reaches down from the bottom of his soul to deliver his intentions clearly. 

"Protect him with your life. Once you have somebody who you love that deeply, you sink your teeth and nails in and you never let go."

Itachi stares, eyes wide. A look of innocence that Obito wishes the kid never loses.

"Find in yourself what I couldn't. Be strong where I wasn't." Obito lets the boy's hands go and he stands up straight, the anvil on his shoulders coming back to his attention, "if you don't, he'll leave. They always do."

He looks away, a burn in his eyes. 

"Don't let him go." 

Itachi lets his hands fall to his sides as Obito squeezes his eyes shut. He won't allow the tears to fall; he's cried over this too many times, _he has to keep it inside._

Once he feels the welling tears sink away, he turns his head to see Itachi's dark, wide eyes brimming with something indescribable. 

"Thank you, Obito-kun."

Obito smiles at him and Itachi bows before, finally, following after his other cousin, who is emerging out of a dango stall a little ways away, two paper bags in hand. Itachi walks a little faster at the sight.

If he didn't know any better, Obito would say the sight warmed his heart. 

Obito turns and continues along his way, passing the last few buildings before going through the district gates. He focuses chakra in his feet and leaps the distance between the entrance of the Uchiha compound— inconveniently placed in the far end of the village— to the village commons area, which is where the marketplace sits. 

Obito makes it in four minutes— a trip that, by foot, would usually take half an hour. The marketplace is filled with stalls of all kinds and stores selling different things. There's a store that sells tools and a limited stock of weaponry that Obito passes, and right next to it is a smaller store that sells paints and canvases and artsy things. It's always fascinated him that two polar opposite worlds can coexist right next to each other. 

He doesn't pay the shops much mind. He's not there to buy anything— simply to observe as he goes along his way.

That is, until he approaches a flower shop. 

It's small, like one of those mom and pop stores, but the flowers behind the window display really catch his eye. They're in an assortment of colors that seem to be of the same plant. They're tall, and grow along an upwards stalk. There are red ones, white ones with pink tips, baby pink ones, yellow ones, and ones in different shades of purple. 

It's the purple ones that lure him closer. 

He walks into the shop. 

Upon entering, he's not exactly fascinated by the contents of the store, but it is very colorful. He sees few selections that he could name. Chrysanthemum, flowers that look like fireworks in the night sky. Carnations that look almost like origami. Lilacs, light purple flowers that are cut from their bushes to display on the rack here. Tulips, with upward-pointing petals that come in all kinds of colors. He's certain he sees roses somewhere, but before he has time to think, a woman comes up to him and grabs his attention. 

"Do you want something specific, or are you just looking?" 

She has a friendly aura that Obito kind of appreciates. He's about to wave her off, though, and continue looking through the shop on his own, until he remembers the flowers that led him inside in the first place. 

"Actually, do you know the name of the flowers in your window display at the storefront?" 

Her eyebrows raise a small fraction before looking over his shoulder to look at the area in which Obito inquired about. Recognition lights in her blue eyes as she nods, looks back to him, and smiles, "yes, they're called _gladioli._ They typically come in warm colors. Were you interested in buying some?" 

"Yeah. The purples are lovely. Three different shades of it will do." Obito says back to her, and she nods. She says something about the meaning of the flowers and something else, but Obito's too focused on watching her select between the different hues to listen. 

The purples truly are something else. 

"Would this be all for you?" 

He looks back up to her as she holds out the three different stalks, suddenly wrapped in a pretty plastic and tied together with a red ribbon. He simply nods in response, pulling out his wallet as she estimates the price. He gives her a few dollars over the price she tells him, and when she holds out his change, he insists she keep it. She hands over the flowers and thanks him graciously. 

He walks out of the store with his hand full of _purple gladioli._

Obito continues along his path, gazing at the flowers he just purchased. He knows next to nothing about flower language, but he thinks that maybe he'll read up on it sometime. He considers the idea that perhaps he should have asked the woman in the shop. If anyone would know, it would be her. 

Rin used to know all about flowers, Obito remembers. It's a distant memory, but he remembers how she would be able to name almost every flower they encountered while on missions with the team. He was never interested, but he listened for as long as his short attention span allowed him to because it was _Rin._ He loved her indefinitely, and would be willing to listen to her talk about the process of paint drying on a wall if she so chose. 

Luckily, she'd never talked about anything that boring. She wasn't a boring person, not by any means. Though, if given the chance today, Obito would eagerly jump at it to listen to her talk, even if it is about something so uninteresting such as paint drying. He would give almost anything to hear her voice again. He's beginning to forget what she sounded like.

That's a dream he isn't willing to linger on though. He fears what such a dream will do to him if he thinks too heavily on it. He needs a distraction to stray away from that line of thought. 

He's walking in front of a bookstore. Yes! He can use the bookstore to start a new line of thought. He looks a little closer at the brick building he's passing. The first thing he notices is the sign on the door, which reads "open" in typical storefront fashion. There's also something in display behind the glass window that Obito can't see quite clearly from his angle, but he knows it's a book and its covers are a light orange color. 

Orange is an obnoxious color. 

The train of thought he worked so hard to construct is derailed as the heavy door reading "open" swings outward as a man emerges from inside. He's young, with white hair and holding a bag with the bookstore's label printed on it in his left hand. Obito recognizes him immediately to be his past teammate and current captain of ANBU Team Ro— Hatake Kakashi.

Aside from the Fourth Hokage, Kakashi is the only person Obito allows to get near him without having to tear down his walls brick by brick first. 

"Another dumb romance novel?" 

When Obito speaks, the masked man turns to face him, and his eyebrow quirks up at he observes his appearance. He seems to consider the question but only shrugs and pointedly looks at the contents nestled between Obito's folded arm. "Purple flowers, and a purple robe?" 

Obito gives a hum, and the familiar irrepressible urge to defend himself comes up tenfold, "I liked the flowers. Felt like being different today, and I found this in my closet." 

"It suits you," Kakashi shrugs, and stops in front of the door until Obito reaches him, "didn't know you had any clothes like that." 

"I didn't know either until I looked." Obito says once they set a pace, the sound of their footsteps together a welcoming comfort. He doesn't find it in himself to chide or tease his friend for his poor selection of fiction. 

Obito has worse habits, after all.

Like being late a lot. Like skipping meals sometimes. Like forgetting to brush his teeth every once in a while. Like staying up all night over the fear of having a nightmare and burning his house down with a fireball jutsu he uses as a defensive reflex when he wakes up in a panic, every so often. 

All of them have happened before. He's already a lot of things but he's not going to be a hypocrite. 

Kakashi's arm bumps into his, and the contact only serves to remind him that everyone around him is so far away. Even Kakashi, whose standing next to him, isn't close enough to put Obito's psyche at ease.

Obito's long since spun out of control. He doesn't want to hurt anyone— doesn't want anyone to hurt _him,_ but no matter how much he tries to push Kakashi away, the man stays by his side each time. As if Obito's not a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off. Why does Kakashi stay by his side?

He doesn't want to ask. He's afraid of the answer.

"Hey," Kakashi's voice ricochets through his brain, and Obito suddenly becomes aware that the footsteps beside him have stopped. The realization causes him to slow to a stop as well, and he turns to the left to watch Kakashi as he attempts to speak. 

That's the moment Obito gets a really good look at his best friend, and it nearly shocks him at just how _exhausted_ he looks. To anyone else, it wouldn't be noticeable, but to someone whose known this man since they were both children, it becomes very apparent. It makes Obito wonder how he'd missed it until now. His shoulders look forcibly pressed down instead of lazily slumped like usual, and his hair is a little more wild, eyes more dull. 

Suddenly, Obito doesn't feel so alone anymore; albeit by a small bit, but just enough to start to make a difference. 

"Would you like to get breakfast with me?" Kakashi continues once he sees that he has Obito's attention, "because knowing you, you probably skipped it. You look low on energy."

Obito regrets skipping breakfast.

"Are you asking me on a date, Bakakashi?" He teases, a sly smirk on his face.

Kakashi shrugs, and though he tries to hide it, he sees that Kakashi's eyes aren't so dull anymore. 

"Only if you want it to be."

Obito's stomach growls. Kakashi snorts.

Obito grumbles. "I want pancakes.”

The anvil on Obito's shoulders splits and falls away as Kakashi starts walking again, taking the lead. Obito rushes to match his pace so they're walking side by side, and by the way Kakashi's face lights up, he must be feeling the same way. He doesn't fight the small smile that plays at his lips.

Today is a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> if youve gotten this far, thank you! 
> 
> i hope my amateurish writing habits didnt get in the way of conveying the point i wanted to make. 
> 
> theres always room to improve! id appreciate a review if you have the time!


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